


What Logic Fails to Explain

by plaidshirt_jimkirk



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Established Relationship, Five Year Mission, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Space Husbands, insecure!Spock, shirt cuddling, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5766982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirt_jimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirt_jimkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim goes away for a two week mandatory conference and Spock consequently learns that logic isn't everything when pining and insecurity strike. But Jim always manages to put him back together...even if he's not physically there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Logic Fails to Explain

**Author's Note:**

> original prompt: "Imagine Spock stealing one of Jim's shirts so he can smell it at night."

Just because something is illogical doesn’t mean that its effects aren’t real, or can easily be ignored. It doesn’t make anything less relevant or impactful.

It doesn’t make anything hurt less.

That was one of the most difficult lessons Spock had to learn. Back on his homeworld, everything had been orderly and easily predicted. Life was structured. There were no surprises. It was an easy path to walk—that was, if one’s heritage were fully Vulcan.

_“Half-breed.”_

_“Your father has questionable preferences.”_

_“Your eyes are quite Terran.”_

_“Will you emote today?”_

_“Do not sit beside **it**. There is a highly probability that you will contract a Terran disease.”_

It was illogical to allow these words to affect him, and yet they were the ones which kept Spock awake at night in his adolescence. He chided himself, insisting that allowing these offenses to sting somewhere inside of him was irrational—that if he were entirely Vulcan, he would have no issue with dissolving it all into something useful.

So, he meditated for long hours, long past the time his mother called him to dinner. He collapsed inwardly on himself, turning these indignities around over and over again in his mind to strip the emotional fallout attached to them—to reduce them to nothing more than data. After all, he had decided that what could not be explained logically must not exist, and that it must only be an ill effect of having emotional human blood clouding his very Vulcan judgement.

Spock exited his trance, only when Amanda knocked on his door and hesitantly peered into his room. He came out from it slightly more Vulcan, he decided.

But deep down, it still hurt. And it would never stop hurting.

However, pain like this wasn’t mathematical and couldn’t be explained in numbers, so therefore… therefore…it wasn’t real. Spock lifted his chin. He was becoming more and more like his father every day. Someday, he would be a real Vulcan and no longer an outcast.

Except that never happened. And the same story repeated itself like a recurring nightmare, long after Spock had taken his leave of the desert world that had been both his home and exile—long after Sarek had cut off all contact with him. He was disowned for following his own belief that he’d be more useful with a tricorder than with his head down writing code all day. He was disowned for being _illogical_.

And if that meant he didn’t exist, Spock sometimes found himself thinking that maybe it would have been for the better.

~

The bathroom door swished open and Spock hesitantly stood there, PADD in hand and held behind his back. His fingertips tapped upon the device. He stood so still that the door closed on him again, and he shut his eyes for a moment.

_Ridiculous._

He lifted his chin, squared his shoulders, and then entered Jim’s quarters. The lights elevated automatically to sixty percent and Spock looked around the empty sleeping alcove, breathing deeply to allow the familiar scent to flood his senses.

He swallowed and lowered his eyes.

This was inexplicable behavior. Why he'd been compelled to visit this place while Jim was off-ship for a mandatory two week conference was lost on him; however, Spock couldn’t resist it. He’d meditated. He’d left his quarters in favor of visiting one of the science labs and the bridge. But every time he returned, he would stare at the door which connected their rooms and the desire to return here flared within him.

And now, here he was.

He wasn’t doing anything that would be uninvited or cause Jim distress; in fact, for over a year now, Spock had spent more time on this side of their shared bathroom than on his own.

Spock’s gaze drifted over to the bed he’d grown accustomed to sleeping in and recalled what it was like to lie there. He recalled the physical sensation of Jim’s arms locked around him during ship’s night and the warmth he generated that no amount of blankets could ever match.

After allowing these memories to surface, Spock suddenly became hyperaware that this place was much too cold and much too empty. He realized he shouldn’t have come back, because an atmosphere of Jim’s scent without Jim’s presence did very little to soothe the fact that his company was sorely missed.

Straightening his spine, Spock clasped his PADD tighter behind him. That was an irrational thought. Jim had only been gone for over a week; it wasn’t long enough to rouse such a sensation of loss. Spock's fingers drummed again and just when he was about to turn back to his own quarters, he stopped in place when his eyes landed on their chess game. It was visible through the divider and suspended in time, half-finished.

He found Jim’s approach to this game fascinating. His strategies never made sense…until they suddenly did and it became too late to have any chance at winning the match.

Softly, Spock placed his PADD down on the ledge near the bed. Then, his boots carried him across the floor to the other side. He didn’t need to see the positioning of the pieces to analyze this game; he had a perfect memory of where they had left off the night before Jim’s disembarkation. But at the same time, he felt compelled to physically view it—felt compelled to reach forth and touch the onyx king which belonged to Jim.

Spock’s hand stopped, fingertips millimeters away from making contact.

What was he doing?

Why was he still here?

The questions numbed him to the temperature and the silence, and logic swept in with full force. This was unbecoming of a grown adult, to feel the loss of one who wouldn’t be gone forever. It was unVulcan-like and unproductive. And with that, Spock abruptly about-faced.

That’s when he saw it: a neatly folded piece of paper, innocently resting atop Jim’s clean desk. Why Jim would utilize such a precious resource was lost on Spock. In the favors of electronic communication and environmental preservation, no one used this material any longer.

…unless they didn’t want their message to be tracked.

He stalked over to the desk, picked up the note, and gently opened it in curiosity.

_That’s our bed. Use it. xoxox_

With no one around to hear it, Spock exhaled forcefully out of his nose and then shook his head. Jim always knew. Somehow, he always knew. And somehow, he comforted and validated Spock even when he wasn’t even physically present.

The note was refolded and carefully slipped into a pocket. Spock’s footsteps carried him back to the sleeping alcove. He wasn’t in his night robe yet, but the bed called to him and he responded. He slipped his boots off. Surak could absolve him of lying down here for a few minutes.

Pulling the covers back, Spock slipped inside and let himself be surrounded by Jim’s scent. He closed his eyes and laid his head against the pillow—to find it was lopsided. He reached underneath, feeling soft material, and then drew it into his sight.

Jim’s shirt. The one he wore the day before they’d left him at Starbase 23.

Spock stared at the gold fabric in his hand for several moments before he brought it to his face. He inhaled deeply and didn’t exhale. His grasp tightened on the tunic and several moments later, he released the breath he’d held.

He missed Jim. He missed him. This had been the first lengthy amount of time since the commencement of their mission in which they’d been separated. And though it was only for two weeks, all Spock could think of at the moment was how much he wanted Jim to come back. He’d grown so used to always having him around that being without him now had him doing crazy things.

Like lying in their bed while still dressed. Like holding to Jim’s uniform. Like desiring to touch Jim’s belongings and wanting to hear his voice.

Like acknowledging the fact that he was missing Jim so much.

It wasn’t logical. But it was true. And it was real. And all the meditation in the universe couldn’t make up for the fact that Jim had become so deeply rooted within Spock that being without him was like being naked.

The quiet ping from his PADD was unexpected. Spock reached over to the device and looked at the screen.

One new message, from Jim: “How’s it going?”

Somehow, he always knew.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3333 This piece was originally posted on tumblr and in my short story collection, [Written in the Stars](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3558830/chapters/7837652) on my main AO3 account. I'll be reposting each of my short stories individually here so I can tag them accordingly.
> 
> Most smaller stories I write are prompt responses and self-betaed. 
> 
> Hang out with me! [tumblr](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.tumblr.com/) | [KSA](http://ksarchive.com/viewuser.php?uid=12451) | [Wordpress](http://plaidshirtjimkirk.wordpress.com/) | [Pinterest](http://www.pinterest.com/cptjameskirk/)
> 
> Got feedback you'd like to share but don't want to leave it here? Drop a line to plaidshirtjimkirk@gmail.com.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. This piece is purely a work of fiction and I am not profiting from it in any way. I do not consent to my work being reposted or reuploaded, in full or in part, to any other website without my permission.


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